


Ambrose (ch1)

by Vinterhjarta



Category: Fantasy - Fandom, Humor - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinterhjarta/pseuds/Vinterhjarta
Summary: Ambrose is the captain of the watch. Overworked and underpaid and with a lifetime of regrets - he tries his best to be the man the city of Lothenburg deserves....With mixed results.





	Ambrose (ch1)

It would have been less of a surprise indeed to find the saints themselves gathered in the chapel for an early morning game of dice. Clerik William Ekerton stared at the man slumped in the pew, an empty glass bottle between his feet. Captain Ambrose Hedder of the city watch was not exactly a familiar face in this chapel. Nor any other of the city's religious gathering points for that matter.

The man was more known for standing in the front line to deal with the tidal wave of disgruntled workers or cutting like an axe through clashing street gangs. 

The cleric’s face softened and he put the candelabra down on the window sill before heading over to the man.

"There there, morning has come sir. I am sure you have work to attend to." He shook the man's shoulder lightly and was rewarded with a groan. 

Stirring, Ambrose feet nudged the bottle that rolled across the floorboards with a hollow and somehow sad sound.

"Forgive me." The captain stood up slowly, surprisingly steady on his feet. Sunken eyes stared over the collar of his great coat. Tufts of brown and grey hair stood on end like the ruffled feathers of a harassed bird.

William smiled up at him, straining his neck as he did.

"You do not have to apologize for spending a night in company of the saints." The watchman glanced up at the painted chapel ceiling and his nose bobbed in a slight nod.

"Thank you," He blinked owlishly, eyes red. Will restrained an urge to reach out and pat the captain’s shoulder.  

"Do you have something on your mind?" he tried. "If you wish to ease your heart, my ears and my prayers are with you." Ambrose gave no reply, his gaze lost in the lifelike, ancient

paintings of the saints and heroes. Slowly he shook his head and picked up his helmet, a worn and dented thing, pushing it down on his head.

"I need to go." He slipped past the younger man and left the pew, heading to the exit.

Will watched the door close and sighed. Picking up the candelabra he headed up to the altar and proceeded to light the candles and incenses on the heavy stone slab. Once done he looked up at the paintings and smiled at them as if they were old friends.

"I do not know what he asked from you," he murmured. "But please look after that man and his constables."

The painting, naturally, remained silent.

 

Ambrose grimaced against the pale morning light, eyes squinting.

“Cat shit…” he muttered as he crossed the street and into an alleyway. His bladder felt like an ill willed melon stuck in his abdomen and he could not get his pants open quick enough. Groaning he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the stream hitting the cobbled ground. Somewhere nearby someone sniggered. A morose glare over one shoulder made the onlooker think better of it. 

Scowling he tucked himself back in his pants with numb fingers. It was early winter, the ice had not yet settled and the streets of the harbor district were covered in mist. Everything from the air he breathed to the scarf around his neck felt damp and disgusting. It was on days like this he wondered why he had not retired to a town further inland. The royal capital of Lothenburg was many things and during the winter months, none of them pleasant. He began making his way back towards the office.

Whilst he appreciated that the stench of sewers and rotting garbage lessened somewhat during the winter, spring had a way of making up for that when the snow melted away and revealed the corpses of every unfortunate bastard who had perished unnoticed in alleyway corners. Ambrose and his men were often tasked with the unpleasant matter of securing the remains for a lawful burial. Ofcourse, they had to fight off swarms of rats or stray dogs at times. Another perk of being part of the city's honourable watch. 

Fumbling with the ring of keys by his belt he rounded the corner of the office building and almost walked face first into a huge shape. Eyes widened he took a step back, just barely managing to keep his mouth from doing the imitation of a stranded, gasping fish. The towering giant before him could not possibly be human. A young face looked down at him in surprise and then a grin of delight spread across that broad visage.

“You must be mister Ambrose!” A meaty hand shot out in greeting.

“Uhh” he took it hesitantly, marveling at the feeling of his hand vanishing completely in the other’s grip. Ambrose was not a small man but this… person...made him feel diminutive.

“And you are?” He managed to get out, staggering from being caught in the vigorous handshake.   
“Alyxandir Yorathiel, reporting for duty!” the giant beamed in a way that made Ambrose feel vaguely nauseous. The name however rang a bell and as he recalled he must have seen it in one of the letters received the previous week. In between the late night shifts and all the stress of trying to get the current budget in order for accounting at the office in the Iron Coffin, those letters had been read and just as promptly forgotten.  

“Aherm, yes, the new guy. Let's get you inside shall we.” He retracted his hand from the other’s grip and hid it behind his back as he flexed his fingers, making sure nothing was broken. He tried to ignore the giant’s presence as he fumbled with the keys in the door and finally managed to have it open. He slid inside and gestured for Alyxandir to come along, noticing with annoyance that the younger man had to bow his head to step inside.

The freakish meat wall had to be from the North, perhaps the city of Askheim. What did the northerners feed their children? Their newborn siblings? 

“If you’d come this way Alyxandir-”   
“Call me Alyx.”   
Ambrose blinked.    
“Very well, this way Alyx.” They squeezed their way past rows of desks and weapon stands. The fire in the cast iron stove had long since died but the heat still lingered. There was no sight of Dillinger or Talsim yet wich was no surprise. Both had probably already started their shift from the barracks in the soldiers district. 

“We currently are a few men short so your arrival is most timely.” They headed down a narrow corridor, passing by an empty prison cell, scaring a few rodents back into their holes.

Ambrose's office was, at the best of days, a glorified closet. After the incident a few weeks back he had been crowded in paperwork, resulting in piles slowly spreading like fungi throughout his workspace. By now, the room was as claustrophobic as a coffin, a burial bed of unfinished letters and scribbled notes. 

Resisting a strong urge to turn at the door he made it in behind the desk and sat down.

“There are some papers you will need to sign before we find you a uniform-” he hesitated. Would they even find one the right size? Talsim was tall, but no way near as wide as Alyx. 

He shuffled through a drawer and as Alyx sat down pushed the papers across. 

“You will need to fill in these.” he muttered, taking off his helm and rubbing his eyes.    
“All right,” the giant replied. He took the offered quill, nearly dropping it. Muttering an embarrassed curse he steadied his gripp and began reading and signing the papers.

To Ambrose it looked not entirely unlike watching a bear play one of those games that made you try to find and pull out the most loose stick stuck in a pile of sticks. He watched that broad face screw up in concentration and had to look away. The thing he least of all wanted right now was to be trailed by a lost puppy. Admittedly an overgrown one with arms as thick as tree trunks, but a puppy nonetheless. Resisting the urge to reach across the desk and tear the papers from those clumsy hands, he instead gripped the helmet in his lap, tracing the old dents and cuts.

“So what brought you here?” 

“I was in the area and saw they were looking for new recruits.” Alyx grinned. “Went to the barracks and Major Astoria sent me here, said you had need of manpower.” Ambrose nodded, gripping the helm absently.

“Indeed.” For a moment he wondered if he should tell the whole story and perhaps save himself the headache of being stuck overseeing the giant newcomer. Sighing inwardly he decided not to, if only to avoid the wrath of his superior. 

The northerner looked sturdy and perhaps that was what they needed right now. At the very least, he would be good for hiding behind.

“Done,” the papers were returned to him and he scribbled down his own initials and then returned them to the drawer. Before closing he threw one long look at the empty hip flask hidden there, taunting him. He got up.

“Come with me, lets get you some gear.” 

 

He was beginning to suspect a terrible mistake had been made. Alyx, he decided, must have been sent to him as some kind of divine punishment. The man’s size was a blessing and a curse. But mostly a curse. As they walked down the streets of the harbor district the busy crowd parted politely, all eyes drawn in wonder at the huge northerner now dressed in a new uniform and a shiny, undented helmet and breastplate. Indeed, it was like walking in the company of some kind of famous hero. Unfortunately, heroes somehow always seems to draw less friendly attention. Never before, in broad daylight, had Ambrose seen so many hostile faces stare at him from the shadows. There was Lorkas Fisheye glaring slyly from a window of Wet lily brothel. Natalija the smuggler princess-if not queen- grinning like a wolf over at the marketplace, wearing an even more expensively colored coat than at their last meeting. Her business must be blooming. 

Feeling his fingers trembling, his throat as dry and cracking as the underside of some worn boot, all Ambrose wanted was to retreat to the relative safety of his office to die the death of being slowly smothered by the piling up paperwork. If the newcomer noticed Ambrose's discomfort it did not show. In Fact, he bound on as cheerfully as a large puppy, staring down every street in wonder as Ambrose told him about the buildings and monuments. 

His clothes and boots were all new and speckless, the metal of his helmet glowing as if it was the crown upon the head of some legendary king. 

Ambrose wondered with a twinge if he had ever looked like that himself in his younger days? It seemed so long ago, like another person entirely. Someone who had not yet had a bottle smashed to his face or fished his first human corpse out of the stinking sewers. No, he decided, throwing a tired glare at some pickpockets skulking in an alley. He had never been as… enthusiastic about things.... as Alyx appeared to be. Never. 

It was an immense relief when he spotted two familiar backsides ahead of them. Dillinger and Talsim. He gripped Alyx meaty wrist and pulled him along, ignoring the surprised “Sir?” 

His two men, or rather, his woman and man stood talking to a small figure. A goblin of some sort with exceptionally droopy ears and curly red hair. Coming closer it was clear to him that the goblin was a female, because Ambrose could usually tell the gender of Goblins, of which there were several. Judging the rosyness of her nose tip and the color painted around her eyes, this goblin was what among humans would be a fertile female, most likely barely past her teens. 

Good old Talsim was sitting on his heels, his long gray and white hair hanging out from under his helmet. Allways the empathetic. Dillinger stood scribbling in a notepad. Her dark face thoughtful.

“We promise to keep our eyes open- you can check by again tomorrow at our office up Blackroad street.” She offered, putting the pencil back behind her ear and the notepad inside her coat. “That is all we can do for now. I advice you not to investigate further on your own- if your brother is in trouble, let us handle it. Sir!” she straightened up, greeting Ambrose with the vitality of a whip crack. Her eyes as sharp as a needle in the night despite the visible exhaustion. For two months now they had been three doing what was usually a taxing work for six. 

The little goblin lady thanked them and moved on, her curls bobbing as she disappeared into the flow of the crowd.

“Constable Dillinger, constable Talsim, this is constable Yorathiel appointed to us by the Major. He will be working with us from now on.” They both greeted the newest member with smiles that did not reach their eyes. Ambrose thought, not without regret, that both looked ten years older after the struggle of the last couple of weeks. And for Talsim, who would be retiring come spring, that was saying a lot. The whirly old man had looked ancient for as long as he had known him. He had always had that long white hair, whilst Ambrose's own had begun to grow more colorless and grey with each passing year.

“Sir,” Dillinger’s voice pulled him back to the present. “There is some comotion down by the docks. Apparently someone found an illegally smuggled beast. We were heading there.” 

He nodded and they again began walking. He took the lead whilst the other two fell in behind Alyx, like dolphins making use of the wake of a ship.

Being at the front of the group, like a morose figurehead on said ship, he envied them.

 

The harbor was a boiling kettle of activity. People all but climbed over each other to reach their destination. Sailors and travelers alike. Weary, hungry and running short on patience. Ambrose thought, and not for the first time, that he wished he had been given jurisdiction over another area in Lothenburg. Many times he suspected that the Major harbored malicious feelings towards him somehow. That had to be why she had sent him off to Blackroad office fifteen years ago. No matter the time of the year these part of the city were damp, cold and smelled of fish and anyone and anything that stayed for too long took on the same characteristics. Ambrose would not be in the least surprised if he woke up one day and found he had grown gills. Suddenly the narrow street opened up and greeted them with a gust of biting cold, salty air and the screeching of seagulls. 

Everywhere you looked there was something being hoisted up or moved. Stained white sails flapping in the wind and ropes dangling between buildings.Carts full of fish or vegetables and fruit from foreign shores. And bird shit. Lots and lots of bird shit. 

Glancing suspiciously up at the endless circling of gulls Ambrose thanked the saints for his helmet.

“They apparently found it hiding in magazine sixteen.” Dillinger squinted at him through the elegantly polished glasses. “Some noble must have tried to have it smuggled in with the fruits from Salziban. Some kind of reptile sir,” Wonderful. Ambrose ducked out of the way from a wagon.

“So tell me, Alyx, you got a good hand with animals?”

“Mostly horses sir,”

“Well, that is better than nothing I suppose. Do we have any further details on the thing?” Talsim shook his head, eyes squinting against the brightness of being under an open sky.

“The men that found it did not get a clear view. It bit one of them in the hand as he was moving a crate, and then slithered further in.” Ambrose repressed a shudder. He hated all things that slithered. And bit. And crawled, scurried, scratched or hissed. 

He considered himself a dog person. Dogs did not slither or skulk. Dogs were good.

 

Once by the magazines they found a small group of harbor workers gathered outside. Impatient and worried faces greeted them. 

“It's in there hiding among the cabbages somewhere. Davian got badly bit, his fingers looked like purple sausages within moments! If he is lucky he will keep them, the healer said. Said it’s most likely some kind of Valurian drake, used for pit fighting. Here, we got you some gloves and sticks. Do you want assistance?” Ambrose took one look at the five sweating and nervous workers and shook his head.    
“We’ll take it from here. How big is it?” Several voices answered him eagerly with different suggestions and from that he gathered it was bigger than a rat, but not larger than a dog.

He took one gloomy look at the dirty burlap sack shoved into his hands and then back at his officers armed with sticks and gloves. “Let's get this over with.” He held his breath as the door was pulled to the side.

 

Sticks at the ready they stalked inside and the door was hurriedly shut behind them. 

Ambrose learned two things those thirty minutes stalking the dark and smelly magazine building. Valurian Drake guano apparently glowed in the dark and Alyx was much more silent on his feet than he looked. It was Dillinger that found the drake. Just as the workers had said, it lurked furthest back  among the cabbages, curled up like an overgrown, blue and purple shrimp guarding its price. 

The young woman absently scraped the guano from the heel of her boot against the floor, not taking her eyes of the Drake.   
“So, how do you want to do this?”

“If we can pin it down and get it into the bag head first,” Talsim suggested quietly.

“I can move the bag,” Alyx offered. Ambrose took one last look at the seething lizard crowning the pile of cabbages, littered here and there with glowing poop.

“Do it.”

What followed was possibly the most anticlimactic moment that Ambrose had been forced to live through the last six months. As Alyx moved with the bag over to the cabbage pile he had expected a terrific fight. Their newest member no doubt eager to prove himself with stick and sack proud in hand. However, instead the man laid the sack out before the drake and lifted the opening with his stick. The drake raised its head and let out a snort, eyeing the sack suspiciously.

It began to unfurl itself and Ambrose held his breath, ready to intervene if the creature launched itself at the newcomer’s face. Excitement turned to disbelief however as the drake, with what decidedly sounded like a sigh of relief, slithered its long body into the sack.

Three pairs of jaws hit the floor simultaneously as Alyx carefully tied together the sack and gathered it in his arms as if it did not contain an angry reptile with venomous bite. Awed and disappointed all in one Ambrose raised one hand to scratch his cheek.

“How did you do that?”   
“She was cold sir.”   
“Wait, what?”

“I spent a year in Thalassar with my father. They kept these drakes as guard dogs. But over there it’s so much warmer. They don’t agree with the cold here in Anvaliria sir. Makes them sluggish and cranky. Poor thing.” One giant hand patted the bundle, drawing a quiet hissing from it. Ambrose resisted the urge to shudder.

“Well done in apprehending the scaly lady, constable. Now that we are done here, let's move. The lizard isn’t the only one getting tired of the blasted cold.” 

Outside they were greeted by a cheer from the workers. Ambrose barely noticed. Heading back to the office he asked the others what they ought to do with the lizard.

“We could take it to the butcher?” Dillinger suggested almost dreamily. “I’ve never had lizard before.”    
“It is not a chicken!” Alyx protested. 

“Perhaps we should hand it over to the wizards academy? They keep a number of odd creatures there already I’ve heard.” Talsim noted quietly. 

“It might not be a chicken, but it seems to me like a wasted opportunity not to try it” Ambrose shook his head. 

“Dill, we are not eating the Drake and that is final.” She came from a long line of cooks and adventurers. And it was at times like this it showed. Ambrose had found more than one odd food item in the office food cellar. It had all culminated in a dreadful incident when opening the hatch had released a flock of live frogs. At times he could still hear ghostly croaks from the corners of the building. Since then, no live ingredients had been allowed in the office. 

Dillinger sulked the entire way back. Alyx on the other hand, was coming up with names for the drake and the ever helpful Talsim had soon joined him.

Ambrose desperately needed a drink...


End file.
